Leading Player
by Scarecrow047
Summary: Just another morning for our Leading Player. A Pippin fic. Rated T because I felt like it, and because it contains some adult material. Very mild, though.


Disclaimer: I do not own Pippin and all that jazz.

Summery: Just another morning for our Leading Player. She in the first part is "The Leading Player's Bitch" or in other words, his "number two", his "favorite girl", or just simply, the chick he sleeps with most nights. He is usually the Leading Player. Hope you can follow it.

She awoke suddenly. Something was wrong. She thought, trying to figure out what had woken her from her slumber. Then she realized it. There was no one beside her. No warm body snuggled next to hers. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. It was late, maybe about 3 in the morning. She got up and opened the tent flap. Then she saw him. He sat at the edge of the cliff, looking at the countryside bellow. She walked to him. She knelt behind him and nuzzled his ear.

"Couldn't sleep?" she whispered seductively in his ear.

"I wanted some fresh air," he said defensively. He never would admit it when something bothered him. She cocked her head then laid her chin on his shoulder. He sighed then leaned his head back so their cheeks where pressed together. He closed his eyes, drinking in her perfume.

"Come to bed," she wisped in his ear. He got up and followed her into the tent.

The next morning he woke up to the slight chatter as everyone began to wake and prepare for the days work. He sat up and looked at her, still asleep on the mat. Maybe he should give her a name. But why? Just because she bed with him didn't make her any better than the rest. Why should _she_ have a name? She was nothing special. He walked out of the tent and stretched. He looked around him. Everyone was at work. One player was making breakfast. Another was tending to the lamb they used in Act II. He noticed one boy, a box of matches in one hand, a torch in another. He was "pyro boy". His assistant and he where in charge of the finale. He was a bit enthusiastic, ok, _very_ enthusiastic, but he got the job done.

"Pyro boy!" He called. The boy looked up. "How's the torch coming along?"

"Good, sir! We're just trying to figure out how to get the fuel to stay in." He ignored the last comment. He didn't care how it worked, as long as it worked. If they both had to light them selves on fire, so be it. No loss to him. He could always recruit more pathetic people. He saw another boy digging around in some bags.

"Hey! Assistant pyro boy! The extra gasoline is in the crate behind the well!" The boy looked up and nodded, then ran to get the fuel. Next, he watched a group of girls practicing a "sex dance" for a while. They where beautiful, thin, sexy. Perfect for seducing young men to join him. He moved on through the camp. Some girls putting on makeup caught his eye. He laughed under his breath. They thought they where _perfect. _Well no, they weren't perfect. They only perfect things here where him and the finale. Yes, his wonderful finale. The one thing that made the change into on of his players, one of his _slaves,_ complete. It was glorious. And he couldn't wait to do it on another unsuspecting dope.

He went to get some breakfast. While eating he glanced at their supplies. Not much. But it would be awhile before they could go into town to get supplies. Not like it was hard at all. He just dressed up one of the players and off to town they went. He usually sent one of the girls, because, even though it took them, he he, a little longer, they always seemed to come back with a few _extra _items. They had to dress up because _normal, everyday_ people didn't much like him and his troop. They called him the devil, a demon, and a monster. He saw nothing wrong with what he did. They where just jealous. That they had to endure the same, boring thing over again each day, and that they weren't _extraordinary _like his players where. Each and every one of them, extraordinary. Ha. He yawned contently. Everything was in order. Everything was perfect. Life was good. Well, his life, at least. He smiled thinking of all the years he had done this, and all years he would continue. It seemed he would never tire of doing the same act again and again. Nothing had changed, nothing would change.

"My lord," asked one of the girls. "Have you found another, _victim_?" He smiled and laughed again to himself.

"Ya. _Pippin_."


End file.
